


Pink Orchids

by paintbox (imstillprettyodd)



Category: Led Zeppelin, Rock Music RPF
Genre: 1970s, F/M, Flowers, Japan, Rock Stars, Touring, i like this one i think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-20 17:15:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18529567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imstillprettyodd/pseuds/paintbox
Summary: Pure affection in Japan 1971.





	Pink Orchids

Monica stands in one of the Japanese parks with a bundle of flowers resting in the crook of her arm.

"Move your head just a little to the right," Jimmy tells her and she sticks out her tongue at him.

"Naughty," Robert shouts. "Let him have his fun!"

It's sticky hot, like a stomach-full of apple juice in summer, but Monica at least likes the pastel layers to the scene. Bundles of on-lookers surround the two long-haired tourists in the middle of the grassy lawn and Monica's in the middle of it, being photographed and double-photographed. She shifts her weight and turns from the sun.

"Put one of the flowers in your hair," Robert orders once more. They're light and pink and by then she had already forgotten their names, but they were a gift by one of the hotel staff before the band's departure, so she insists on carrying them like totems.

She places the one with the shortest stem behind her ear and Jimmy moves closer, kneeling slightly to get a shot of her standing form. Her eyes turn to view his, barely visible behind the camera. It had been such a shock to see him in L.A., all beard and heat and hippy-stench. And the rest of them, too, stomping around like cavemen. Over a year she had waited for him to come back to the States, to come to Texas at least, but the call had been in Mid-August, telling her she was to fly west for the start of the next tour, which she would be finishing out with him. _I missed you, Moni_ , a scratchy kiss to the wrist. _And your scent._

"Hi," she teases.

"Look away," he responds and smashes more of the wet grass beneath his knees to assume a better angle.

"It'll be candid."

A hum.

"Oh, I forgot, the artist needs his canvas to cooperate," she turns, but not before rubbing her ankle against the curve of his bent leg. He snaps a few more shots, and then turns to get the crowd, huddled against the wire fence around the lawn, a mass of people against a sky wisped with clouds.

Peter's voice bellows out to them and Monica turns, dropping her free hand and curling her fingers for Jimmy to grab onto. 

"And so Persephone pulls Hades from the Underworld, to bring eternal winter to the people," Robert snickers.

Monica shakes her head and waits for Jimmy's comeback, but all she receives is a little burst of air from his mouth and his turned back as he places the camera back in its case. His grasp is sweaty in hers and when she brings the soft skin to her lips for a kiss, it smells distinctly of metal. Her feet become wet again as she takes the trip back to the boundary of the park, stepping over the fence after Robert and Jimmy.

"And now?" She leans into Jimmy, hot body on hot body. He squeezes at her waist, his signal for _hold on_.

Peter quickly lays out the rest of the day. What streets they will traverse to get to their assigned cars, how fast it will take them to get to the airport, how they should act before boarding the plane to the next city. Monica draws a circle into the ground with her foot and waves at a curious little girl walking past them.

When they're finally able to start walking once more, she insists on stopping by a shop to get a better view of the pretty necklace in the window. 

Jimmy presses his palm to her back and from the corner of her eye, Peter throws his hands into the air. 

"Do you want me to buy it for you?" The coarse hair on Jimmy's face rubs against her cheek and she brings her fingers up to touch the spot. 

"No, no, let's go. G's getting all frazzled anyway."

Another nuzzle to her, this time accentuated with a touch of her shoulder and a, "I think you'd look lovely with it. Just it and a pair of heels, nothing else." She can picture his tongue sweeping in his mouth and she reaches up to remind herself that he's solid. 

"Okay," she gives in. Robert offers to hold her flowers with a flourish. She bows a little for emphasis. Her and Jimmy enter the store, Monica immediately moving to the bust in its alcove, her eyes tripping down the chain until they reach the dragon pendant. A green stone sits offering-like in the dragon's claws. She's just about to reach out and touch it when Jimmy calls her over, telling her to bring the necklace along. The store owner has agreed to give them the necklace for a discounted price, just for them, since they've stirred the city up with their music. 

Monica stares at Jimmy eagerly while the owner curls the chain into a small brown paper bag. Failing at being discreet, she admires the slope of his cheeks, the prominence his nose now plays with his face half-dark, and the little toothy grin he gives from beneath his mustache when accepting the bag. She smiles to the man behind the counter and turns, Jimmy's palm a pressure at her back. 

"Wait," he pauses her in the doorway and circles her. "Lift your hair for me." The others are outside, she can see them through the glass door of the shop, standing idly, arms crossed or at their sides. 

"Hurry," she whispers. 

Jimmy tsks her and takes his time brushing the tips of his fingers over her neck. Her back straightens at the touch. Lastly, the pendant finds its rest just below the meeting of her clavicle, cool and heavy. "I'm part of the reason they're all here," lips to neck, lips to ear. Monica sighs. She's reminded of just how good his beard feels on her tender body. 

"Yeah, but so is G, sweet thing. And you already know how much he dislikes me," she doesn't bother turning to him as she mumbles and steps from the shop. The heat unfurls and spreads around her with weighty arms.

Robert gravitates toward her. "Let me see."

Monica looks down and pulls the pendant from her skin, pointing at the stone in the center. "Do you like it? It reminds me of you-know-who almost. Ancient and a little mysterious." 

He examines it closer with a rough hand and a smile. "Hmm, right. Now you'll always have him with you no matter where you roam." He lets it fall back to her skin and returns her bundle of blooms. 

"And now if we're done wasting bloody precious time," Peter grumbles. Monica shoots a look at Jimmy. 

* * *

Monica is forced to throw her flowers in the garbage at customs. 

"Don't worry, dear. I'll make sure to get you a nice bursting bouquet after the next concert," Robert announces to the group as they walk to the terminal. It's marked with white tones, bare walls, cream-colored seats at the terminal gates. Monica's first time flying was when she traveled with Jimmy on last year's tour. She had desperately begged for the window seat and had felt so expansive, staring down at all those tiny houses, swirls of rivers. But her favorite sights had been the bunches of clouds that occupied the sky. _Icarus was just another show of the Greeks' obsession with hubris_ , Jimmy's post-sex voice nags at her. He always manages to get himself caught up in trying to intellectually impress her after going at it, if he doesn't fall asleep of course.

She sidles up to him before they enter the plane, his bag a separation between them. "Can I have the window?" 

"Alright, but only because you graciously gave it to me last flight." His eyes begin to crinkle with an almost smile and she parts the space dividing contact to peck his cheek. 

"Thank you." She increases her pace and passes through the airplane door with a sappy smile to the flight attendants, and finds her seat before him. She turns to watch as he enters, over her lifted arm that pushes her bag into the overhead bin. She'll never get over the way he walks or moves--bouncy and light, step, step, decidedly feminine, but decidedly unsexy with his thin, lanky form. His sweater and facial hair make him look a little less vulnerable, at least. 

"Hi," a repeat of their scene at the park, except this time he's the one teasing. 

"Oh, hello. I don't think I've ever met you before. Would you like help with your bag, sir?" She reaches for him, but the dark green glance he gives her makes her retract her offer. 

"No, I'm fine." Jimmy leans over her and has no hassle with the compartment.

"You know," she seats herself, eye-level with the zipper of his pants, "we've just met and all, but I have to say you're terribly handsome."

A grunt and he falls back into the chair, "Good thing we're sitting beside one another, then."

"Right," a giggle bursts like bubble gum from her mouth. She lifts the shade on the tiny window and takes in the view of the pavement and airline workers beneath. 

"They were orchids," Jimmy suddenly says and smooths a hand down her blue skirt, twisting the hem back and forth between his fingers, sliding his grip back up her thigh and threatening to take the fabric with him. "They were cut too short and bound to die anyways." 

Monica looks over at him with furrowed brows. She settles her hand on top of his. "I'm not grieving," she traces the mound of his knuckle with her nail.

A short sound almost fails to leave his mouth. Sometimes she manages to catch him by surprise. His wide eyes make her wiggle a little in the seat.

"Are we staying at the hotel tonight when we arrive in Hiroshima?"

"Yes," he removes his hand from her lap and sets hers still so that he can follow the tributaries of the barely-there veins beneath her tan skin.

Monica leans towards him, not moving her left hand, but allowing her right to slide over the rough fabric of his trousers. Gripping at his inner thigh, she sighs and reclines her head onto his shoulder.

"Good." She pinches at his flesh and his legs twitch, pushing himself further into the seat of the plane. The last few passengers file in.

* * *

Like the rest of daytime Japan, the room is bright and airy. Monica undresses in front of the large glass balcony doors. The lights of the city shine out in patterns among the city skyline, dots and blurbs of red and blue and yellow amongst purple-black. She hears the rustling of clothing behind her and tries not to let those familiar birds of paradise-arousal dive into her stomach. She focuses on a car moving along the street below, but they do anyway, and she brushes a hand along the curtain to keep herself still.

Too bad. Jimmy's hands curve around her waist and he presses himself, bare and warm, against her. He situates his mouth at the point where her neck and shoulder meet. His soft lips taste her and open to suck and nip, she's sure her shoulder will turn red and bothered by the scrape of his beard after he's done. 

Monica reaches up to frame his head with her hand and whispers his name, "Something's missing."

"I know," he responds and lets his hand wander between the two of them, tickling down her back, rubbing his thumb along her behind until he finds the underside, where her thigh connects to the soft round skin. She spreads her legs but makes a motion to leave him.

"I meant the heels, remember? Green to match?" 

"Oh, of course," his index finger draws a line that almost connects to her warmth, but she breaks from his hold and kneels beside her suitcase on the bedroom floor. She can feel his eyes on her--the smoothness of her back and curled shape of her body. She had told him once, after their second time in bed together, that if she had it her way, she'd be naked all the time. 

Jimmy reclines into the bed, elevating his head with his crossed arms. Monica appears over the foot of the bed with her emerald heels dangling from her fingers. 

"Do you like these?" She asks.

"Yes. Come over here and I'll put them on for you." 

She can already notice the blood-rush to his erection as she steps to him. "What about getting the bed all dirty with them? Who knows where these have been..."

He shakes his head and gestures for her to bring her leg up for him. "Don't worry." He runs over her foot with a light touch, then takes the shoe from her grasp. He stares up at her, then between her legs, and continues fixing the clasp around her ankle. "I like the blue polish. I forgot to tell you the other day," he murmurs and has her change feet. 

"I thought you might--would you quit it?" She uses her hand to cover herself from his view, her cheeks turning a heated red and her hips shifting. 

"Where's that nudist attitude from before?" Jimmy gives a kiss to the top of her foot and moves toward the side of the bed, patting the empty comforter next to him. 

She crawls forward with an eager ache, "I felt _exposed_ ," but all words of defense are lost when Jimmy traps her beneath him. The slightness of his form is so good and warm and soft, pillows and cream-colored arms. Her hands curl around his shoulders to tug him closer. She can feel his hardness against her leg, his nipples brushing her chest, his mouth opening to take hers. Perfect, absolutely perfect. She tastes him with her tongue and receives the low, continuing bitterness of the Japanese tea they had tried on the plane. Jimmy pulls away with pink lips and gives her a smile. She grins back. 

"I was thinking, when we were in the shop, how pretty you are. Just so pretty," Monica murmurs and handles his messy curls. "I want to see you painted and sculpted."

By now, his head is already down again, setting her blood vessels on fire with his teeth and his tongue. Her favorite spot is the fleshy spot in the concave of her collarbone. He takes a fingertip to the silver chain of the necklace and follows it to the pendant. He flicks at it with his tongue in a suggestive pattern that has Monica getting wetter by the minute. She traces the shell of his ear as a signal to move on and stop his teasing. Further he moves, until his breath is hot on her right nipple and her skin is tingling. 

"Maybe one of these days you'll give up on your horse portraits and have me model instead," he says. Her laugh is caught and merges into a moan when his lips wrap around the erect bud. Her legs spread underneath him and she hooks the bend of her knees on his hips. With her inviting warmth teasing beneath him like an unfurling flower, Jimmy groans and reaches his occupied hand, the one not pinching at her left nipple, for her hip. 

"Maybe," she finally breathes out. His mouth comes off her and he leaves wet kisses down her stomach, working his erection against her at the same time, sliding up and down her slickness. Her insides twist and she makes a small noise and her legs tighten their hold on him, crossing over his lower back at the ankles. She hopes he doesn't mind the pinch her heels will press into his skin. 

His hand never leaves her breast, not when his eyes close as he pushes inside her, not when her nails leave marks on the skin of his shoulder blades. The sounds of their pleasure, breathy and serene, fill the room. All Monica wants to do is keep him with her forever--within her, beside her, near her. Soon he'll go back home and that empty feeling will weigh in her chest, down and down. 

"Oh, Jimmy," she craves his sweetness, the rhythmic tempo of his body, the motion of his hips, the tiny stops of breath coming from his throat. She wants to go home with him, to that little house on the Thames he's talked about, and sit at his feet and listen to him play. She wants the constant height of her heart on helium. He lowers his hand to rub at her, two fingers, small circles, there's a little fire being brought to life with oxygen in her belly. Her head rocks into the pillows, the frame of the bed squeaky below, and when she parts her eyelids, Jimmy's mouth is open and panting and his hair is falling down the sides of his face and _oh god_ , Monica is so close to coming. His hand speeds up and a wave of pleasure burns her body to her feet. Her walls clench around him and she earns her name from his lips in a pattern. Quick, desperate thrusts follow. One presses into a spot inside her and sends her falling. 

She's too lost to open her eyes and catch his face at the moment his cum fills her. That hot feeling, that full feeling, that wrinkling of his nose when he leaves her name in the air. For a moment she forgets to breathe until Jimmy pulls away and out. The sudden loss of him is frightening and she feels like a candle extinguished. Their combined fluids drip onto the comforter from her center. Her legs are twitchy. Her body is sweat-sheened. Jimmy leaves the bed and her head drops to the side to view him turning the bathroom light on. He disappears and in her state, Monica imagines herself sitting up, but is unable to make her muscles work. 

Jimmy returns with a damp towel in his hand. At the end of the bed, he smirks and the skin at the corners of his eyes presses together. 

"You are so good, Moni," he praises and tugs at her ankle gently. The weight of the mattress shifts and he crawls between her thighs, looking up at her as if to check if she's still coherent. He dabs the towel across her skin and then folds it over and presses it down on the comforter. Monica lets go of held air and drags herself into the pillows. Jimmy taps a finger along the clasp of her green strappy heels. "Next time we'll have to use these more effectively. I barely got to see them on you." He works to get them off.  

She nods with her lips open. "How soon will next time be?"

He shrugs and some of his hair falls from his shoulder onto his back. "Whenever you feel up to it."

Her lips feel terribly dry; she licks them twice before she asks, "What about after we leave Japan?" 

He bends to place her shoes on the carpet and walks around the side of the bed. His hands find her and he pulls her from her position to lay against him. Monica thinks she must look small, curled to him like that, having her hair combed by his fingers. 

"We'll see," he whispers, so she holds him close again. He leans away, sticky skin separating, and switches off the light. Monica holds the scent of his body--salt and grass and wet pavement--deep in her lungs.


End file.
